


The Best Laid Plans

by Fledgling



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Flirting, Kissing, M/M, Smut, Sticky Sex, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-02
Updated: 2013-03-16
Packaged: 2017-11-23 07:43:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/619705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fledgling/pseuds/Fledgling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a screwed recon mission, Jazz is left injured and assigned to desk work until Ratchet can fix him. So what can he do with his now free and bored time? Why, concoct a plan to get Prowl into his berth for a bit of course! But, it will take all his skills to court the mech, and along the way some feelings may get involved on both sides that weren't in the plans. The rating will go up as the story progresses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Jazz growled in frustration, glaring at his arm.  
Slagging seekers. It was their fault.  
The mission had been going splendidly. A quiet in and out mission, small team, just a little recon. In fact, their mission was complete and they were leaving when Skywarp decided to teleport into the spot right in front of them. And though they had silenced him quickly enough, they weren’t quick enough to stop him from sending a quick message to his trine mates.  
All hell broke loose.  
They ran and hid for breems, going from one spot of cover to the next. If Mirage hadn't been able to call for reinforcements, they would've been a lot worse off. As it stood, Mirage had a busted knee joint, Smokescreen had a dislocated doorwing, and Jazz himself had a busted shoulder.  
Which meant until Ratchet got what he needed to fix him, he had no use of his left arm.  
Jazz growled again, grabbing his arm at the wrist and moving it into his lap. The good doctor had been kind enough to put it in a brace, so as to not cause more damage. But he was stuck with desk work until his arm was fixed. He didn't understand how Prowl did it! It was so boring!  
Jazz sighed, resting his helm on the desk. That was one bonus to all this; he was taking part of the tactician's workload. The Datsun needed a break.  
Jazz sat back, looking at the ceiling. He liked Prowl. He had a good work ethic. He took no nonsense. He came off as cold, but Jazz knew he was a caring mech under all that ice. He was a demon on the battlefield too. His aim was always sure and calculated. It was a little bit scary. Then again, Jazz had his own battle reputation. And Prowl wasn't bad to look at either.  
Jazz frowned. Why the sudden interest in the tactician? Well, sure, he had noticed him before. It was hard not to. The mech gave off an aura of control and ice that filled the room. But this? He'd never been this interested.  
Jazz leaned back, putting his legs on the desk. He wouldn't mind having the tactician. At least for a little while. Might make him loosen up a little. Maybe keep him for a little longer if they both liked it. It'd be a challenge and a half to court him though. Jazz smiled. He loved a challenge.  
Jazz started as the door cycled open. And there stood Prowl himself, in all his white and black glory. His attention was focused on a datapad in his servo, with a small stack tucked between his arm and side, and another stack balanced in his other servo. Jazz groaned, his helm flopping backwards. Did the paperwork ever end?  
“Geez, Prowler. Is the workload always this heavy? Or are the twins just bein’ particularly malicious? Did Jackie blow himself up again? Red on the fritz?”  
Prowl’s optics glanced up at him, one corner of his mouth twitching. Ooh, that was a sexy look. “No, Jazz. The workload isn’t usually this heavy. However, you did just come back from a mission, which means paperwork.” He walked forward, setting the pads on his desk. “A mission gone sour? Even more.” He looked around, pulling a chair closer to the desk. “Oh, and Wheeljack did blow himself up. Much to Ratchet’s joy.” Prowl said the last part with a thick layer of sarcasm and an eye roll.  
Jazz grinned. “Ah bet he was thrilled.”  
Prowl sighed. “Oh yes. He was waiting at the medbay doors, wrench in hand.”  
Jazz snorted. He looked at the two neat stacks of datapads, wincing. “Sorry ta cause ya so much work, Prowler.” He reached for a pad, wanting to get it over with.  
He was surprised when a servo caught his wrist. He looked at Prowl, cocking his helm to the side. Prowl guided his servo to the other stack.  
“This one is yours.” He said by way of explanation, dropping his servo and picking up the one Jazz had been reaching for.  
Jazz stared at him. He was doing his work in here with him? What? “Prowler?”  
“Hm?”  
“Not that Ah don’t enjoy y’ur company, but what are ya doin’ in here?”  
Prowl did not pause in reading the datapad. “From what I have observed, you are a social mech, as well as an active one. I figured being stuck behind a desk must be incredibly dull for you. Unfortunately, nothing much can really be done about the inactivity.” He glanced pointedly at his arm before going back to his pad. “And, while I am not the _best_ company I am aware, I figured some company is better than none.” He looked him in the visor. “And I won’t distract you from your work.” His gaze shifted to the pad Jazz had grabbed.  
Jazz stared at him. Such an odd, odd mech. “Ah see.” Jazz settled back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other and resting the datapad on it. “Thanks.”  
Prowl nodded slightly. “You’re welcome.”

They spent the rest of the duty cycle together in the small office, not making any sound except when they shifted in their seats or swapped out datapads. It was altogether boring, but the company of another bot did make it a little more tolerable.  
Jazz spent a good deal of the time discreetly looking at Prowl from behind his visor. The way the lights bounced off his plating brought attention to all the right curves and angles. As he worked, his optics dimmed and brightened in turns, highlighting the features of his face. Several breems in, he had shifted from his rigid posture into a more relaxed one, hunched over with his elbow rested on his knee and his chin propped in his servo. His doorwings had begun to flutter then, and twitch. Jazz had been mesmerized. He had never seen the tactician in any sort of relaxed state before. He honestly didn’t know if he had been aware of what he was doing.  
They finished their work at the same time, and actually a little early in their shift. Prowl blinked owlishly, tilting his helm to the side. Jazz couldn’t help but smile, though he did stifle the laugh that threatened to bubble out of his throat.  
“Not used ta bein’ done early?”  
“No, actually.”  
Jazz chuckled, standing. He moved to stretch, but stopped when he remembered his arm. He glared at it, huffing. He walked around his desk, standing beside Prowl and jerking his thumb towards the door with a grin.  
“Rec room should be pretty empty. Wanna grab some energon?”  
Prowl looked up at him, a little confused and lost. Had no one ever asked him to get energon with them before? Or had he never been done early before? Probably yes on both accounts.  
“I- Sure, Jazz. Thank you.”

The rec room was blessedly empty, save for Skyfire who left soon after they walked in with a friendly nod. They grabbed their energon and headed towards a table in the back, secluded but with a good view of the rest of the room. Jazz sighed as he slid into his seat, propping his feet up on the seat opposite. Prowl sat across from him, looking at his feet before looking back up at him.  
There was tense silence as they drank. Jazz, thankfully, was a skilled conversationalist.  
“Does it hurt ‘em when ya sit fer so long?” He asked, motioning to Prowl’s doorwings with his cube.  
Prowl blinked, looking at his wings. “Sometimes. Depends on how long I work and how I sit.”  
Jazz nodded. “Seems like they’d be a pain. Get in the way, make good targets.”  
Prowl shrugged. “They can. But they’re just another body part. Does your arm get in the wa- oh. Well.” Prowl waved his hand. “You get my point.”  
Jazz snickered. “Yeah, Ah get it.”  
Prowl took a sip from his cube. “They’re full of sensors too. Like the wings of a flyer. Helps with balance and perception.”  
Jazz cocked his helm to the side. Did they now? That explained why Smokescreen was so good at sensing Decepticons when they were behind enemy lines. “Makes ‘em sensitive though, don’t it?”  
Prowl frowned. “An unfortunate side effect.”  
Jazz hummed. He set his cube down, rubbing at his brace. It was a little itchy.  
Prowl noticed his discomfort, tilting his helm. “How long do you have to wear that?”  
Jazz sighed. “Until Ratchet can figure out how to fix it, and then figure out if he has what he needs to fix it. ‘Bout a week or two, probably.”  
Prowl winced. “How unfortunate.”  
Jazz smiled, though it looked like a grimace. “Eh. Look on the bright side! You’ll have less work now, Prowler!”  
Prowl sighed. “That is true. We did get done rather quickly today.”  
Jazz smiled. He grabbed his cube, finishing it in one go. He tossed it, sinking it in the bin across the room. A plan was forming in his processor, and he was eager to set it in to motion.  
“Hey Prowler.”  
Prowl looked up from where he was raising his own cube to his lips. “Hm?”  
Jazz bit his lower lip. “Ah, uh, Ah got a favor ta ask ya.”  
Prowl lowered his cube. “Yes Jazz?”  
“Well…” Play it up, Jazz. “This brace, it’s gonna make it kinda difficult ta wash myself. Do ya, uh, think ya could help a mech out?”  
Prowl blinked. Was Jazz…? Yes, he was. Prowl’s battle computer started running at warp speed. To turn him down would be rude. And he did need assistance. But why Prowl? It was illogical; Mirage or Smokescreen- were both injured as well. Prowl was the most logical choice. He was responsible and thorough.  
Prowl looked up at Jazz, who was waiting patiently for an answer. Prowl finished his cube, standing. “Very well Jazz. We can use the wash rack in your quarters or mine. Your choice.”  
He walked to the door, tossing his own cube in the bin and turning to look at Jazz. “Well?”  
Jazz watched him walk to the door, enjoying the way his body moved. His optics snapped up to his face as he talked to him, and he grinned.  
“Yours is closer.” He said, standing and sauntering over to him. He stopped when he reached him, gesturing out the door. “Lead the way.”


	2. Chapter 2

One of the perks of being high ranking officers was that they got their own rooms, and while they were technically smaller than most other crew quarters, it was nice to not have to share living space with another. Gave a mech plenty of room to spread out, and not have to worry about conflicts between roommates. Or having to worry about bringing over potential berthmates. Unless you were sleeping with your roommate that is, like Mirage and Hound or Red Alert and Inferno. Then they didn't have to worry about it.  
Jazz looked around as they walked into Prowl's quarters. Structurally, it was the same as his own. However, Prowl's was a lot more... bland, than his. Then again, that could be said for most of the crew; Jazz had taken to Earth culture better than most anyone else had, and it showed in the clutter. However, Prowl's quarters reeked of emptiness. There was a berth, shoved into the corner where you couldn't see it right away when you walked in (preparing for an attack). In the opposite corner, twisted catty-cornered was a small desk littered with datapads. There were a few storage lockers built into the far wall, but other than that the room was rather empty. If you didn't count its two current occupants, that is.  
Prowl was watching him look around, his face neutral. Jazz smiled, though on the inside he frowned. The mech really needed to loosen up some.  
"It's a little plain, doncha think?" Jazz asked, walking forward to stand next to the tactician.  
Prowl looked around and shrugged. "To some, possibly. However, I am not in here often. And when I am, it is to recharge. If there was a great deal of clutter, wouldn't that distract from that?"  
"Ah guess. Ah mean, Ah suppose it depends on the mech. Me? Ah'm more'n used ta a little mess."  
Prowl huffed. "I figured as much, considering your personality and how much you love Earth culture."  
Jazz snickered, placing his servo over his spark. "Prowler, Ah'm flattered ya think so highly of meh!"  
Prowl rolled his optics. He gestured towards a door, barely noticeable as it was the same color as the walls and fit so well into it. "Wash rack is this way."  
Jazz grabbed the servo. "Let's go then!" He said, pulling them along and trying not to sound too eager.  
As much as he wanted to, he couldn't make any direct moves on Prowl, not tonight at least. It would probably scare the poor mech off. He could still drop subtle hints, tease and flirt a little, sure. Just nothing to forward. Besides, courting was fun. Especially when it was a mech like Prowl. He had a real challenge in his servos. Now, if _Prowl_ made a few moves on him, that'd be a different story. Not only would it blow his perceptions of the mech out of the water, but it would be hotter than Pit.  
His wash racks were the same as Jazz's too. Jazz released Prowl's hand as they entered, turning and hitting the lock for the door. Prowl turned the dials of the shower, the water starting to pour out of the shower head. It heated up quickly, steam filling the room and wrapping around their bodies. Jazz crept forward, quietly as his large form would allow, until the tips of Prowl's doorwings nearly touched him. The Praxian turned, probably to talk to him, and jumped when he realized how close they were.  
"Jazz!"  
The saboteur chuckled. "Ya need ta relax, Prowler." He teased, bumping into him as he walked passed him and under the spray of water. He sighed as the warm water hit his plating. It felt good, after a long day of sitting in one spot. His joints had gotten stiff from sitting at his desk in one position for so long. He felt Prowl walk up behind him, and looked over his shoulder at him.  
“Where do you wish for me to start?” He said, motioning towards the saboteur with a bottle of solvent. He had a rag held loosely in his other servo.  
Jazz paused. Really, the only thing he couldn’t wash was his right arm and side, but...  
“Just start whereva ya wish. Ah can get mah front ‘nd left side, but mah back ‘nd mah right side Ah can’t really reach. Not without some difficulty, anyway.”  
Prowl nodded. "I see. Do you wish for a rag of your own so that you may clean yourself off while I do my part?"  
Jazz shrugged. Better not to push his luck. "Sure."  
Prowl moved out from under the spray, returning quickly with another rag. Jazz took the rag, pausing as he realized a problem he hadn't seen before.  
"Prowler, how-"  
"I have already come up with a solution Jazz." Prowl grasped his servo, holding their servos steady. He silently poured solvent onto the rag. Jazz took the opportunity to lean back, just enough so that his back and Prowl's front brushed gently, but not enough to look intentional. Prowl bristled a little, it didn't say anything, obviously not thinking it to be anything but an accidental touch. Prowl released his servo, and stepped back, putting space between them again. Jazz hid a smile, starting to wash himself.  
He hummed pleasantly as he ran the soft rag over his chest plates, making sure to take his time. He jumped a little when Prowl touched his back, grunting quietly, though it was partly for show. Prowl didn't pause, beginning to wash his back in precise, even, tight circles over his plating. Jazz relaxed into the touch, purring softly. Prowl seemed to bristle again, but his servo didn't falter. His other servo rested on his lower plating, though whether it was to steady himself or Jazz was a good question.  
They worked in silence, save the patter of the water on their plating and the purring of their systems. Jazz considered turning his radio on, but knew Prowl would protest, so kept it silent. Cleaning around the brace was hard, but not impossible, though he did let one or two profanities slip out. He almost thought he heard Prowl laugh, quietly, but it was hard to tell over the water.  
What wasn't hard to tell was how nice it was to have Prowl's servos running over his plating. They were warm and sure, leaving not an inch of plating unclean. Many a time, Jazz leaned into the touch, staying there for a few moment before Prowl gently pushed him up right. Jazz scrubbed what he could of his legs without bending out of the tactician's reach, finally bending over and washing his pedes as Prowl washed his lower back. He grinned, feeling Prowl stiffen and shift his stance, knowing that he was giving the mech a very nice view. The placement of his servos on his lower plating? Even better. Prowl didn't falter in his strokes, perhaps speeding up a bit, but retaining the same note of smooth efficiency that everything he did had.  
They finished at the same time, Jazz straightening and stretching and Prowl backing up to give him the space. Jazz turned to him, smiling. Prowl held out his servo.  
"Arm."  
Jazz hesitated for a moment, before remembering that he couldn't wash his right arm. He held it out obediently, waiting to see what the Praxian would do. Prowl held his servo, keeping his arm from moving, and began. He started at the shoulder, using the same steady strokes he had used on his back. Jazz watched with rapt attention, though it wasn’t on his servo. It was on Prowl’s face, watching him. He had the same look of quiet concentration as he did in his paperwork, focused, and attentive. It was actually pretty hot.  
Jazz held back a grin. Time to see what it took to break that concentration.  
Jazz squeezed his servo, gripping it tightly. Prowl didn’t falter, merely readjusted his grip. Jazz tilted his head. Prowl’s gaze hadn’t even wavered. Okay, new tactic.  
Jazz loosened his grip, his digits skimming along the tactician’s palm. The tips brushed his wrist lightly, just enough to make sure the contact was noticeable. He let his servo inch forward a little more, his digits dancing up his wrist, stroking over the plating, and-  
 _“Jazz.”_  
There it was.  
“Hm?” Jazz looked up at Prowl, frowning slightly. The Innocent Face. He had perfected it long ago, and had made sure it hadn’t diminished over the orns. Prowl didn’t look impressed.  
“Do you mind?” He asked, looking at his wrist. He did that a lot. Gestured with his optics. He used a lot of body language, probably because he didn’t verbally communicate what he really meant a lot of the time. Unless you were Prime or Ratchet, but you had to be stupid or suicidal to lie to them.  
“Sorry.” Jazz said, pulling his servo back. He made sure to not lift it though, their plating scraping together.  
Prowl grunted, continuing to wash his arm. He was down to the forearm, almost to the wrist. Jazz turned his helm back to the wall in front of him, planning his next mo- oh. Oh, that was simple.  
“Hey, Prowler?”  
Prowl looked up, curious, releasing his servo at the same time. Done? Good. Jazz put his arm under the spray.  
“Since you were kind enough ta wash mah back, how ‘bout Ah wash y’ur’s? Ya know, as a sort of thank you?”  
Prowl immediately and visibly stiffened. Jazz frowned. Why would he be so- right. Prowl. Not used to social interaction, apparently. Or maybe he just didn’t want Jazz near his back. It was a vulnerable spot, especially with his wings, but he wasn’t Red Alert!  
“Alright. Thank you, Jazz. Just, please be mindful of my doorwings.”  
Be mindful of the doorwings.  
Open. Invitation.  
Jazz started at his lower plating, not pressing his luck and going too near his aft. Contrasting Prowl's work, he worked at a slow, leisurely pace, broad, long strokes of the rag over his plating, taking his time. He smiled, knowing Prowl couldn't see it. The tactician would shift every few moments, obviously not used to someone touching him. Jazz hummed softly, stepping up closer behind him, one shoulder gently brushing a doorwing. Prowl tensed, relaxing as the saboteur muttered an apology.  
Jazz was careful as he washed the area between his doorwings, considering his angle of approach. Satisfied with his game plan, he ignored them for now, noticing that a bit of the tension in Prowl's plating seemed to slip away as he moved above to his shoulders.  
When Jazz finished with his shoulders, Prowl started to turn, but Jazz stopped him. "Ah ain't done Prowler." He said, nudging him back around. Prowl looked at him skeptically, but complied and turned around.  
"Jazz, what are you do-ING!"  
Jazz grinned, going back over the top of the doorwing in a lighter touch. "Just washin' y'ur back, Prowler."  
"Jazz, that- that's really n-not necessary. I can do them myse-"  
"Hush." Jazz chastised, rubbing circles along the broad side of the door.  
Necessary? Maybe not. But entertaining? Oh yes, very much so.  
Jazz washed the wing with alternating pressures, switching between circles and strokes. Prowl remained tense, his doorwing twitching as Jazz watched it. He groaned, once, before biting down on his lip to silence anymore sounds. Jazz smiled. Was it wrong of him to be enjoying this? Maybe. But he was anyway.  
Jazz pressed close to his back, leaning forward so his lips were right by his audio. “Ah’m done, Prowler.” He whispered, stepping back.  
Prowl jerked, yelping, turning around and staring at Jazz with wide eyes. “You!”  
“Hm?” Jazz asked, smiling.  
Prowl opened his mouth, closed it, then sighed and shook his helm. “Thank you for washing my back Jazz.” He uttered quickly, letting the water hit his wings.  
“Not a problem! Any time ya need meh, ya know where Ah am!” Jazz quipped.  
Prowl stared at him. Jazz laughed, hitting his arm. “Come on, Prowler. Loosen up!”  
Prowl continued to stare at him. Jazz shrugged. “Alright then Prowler. Y’ur choice.”  
Jazz walked out of the shower, grabbing a towel and drying off best he could. He jumped as Prowl gently took the towel from him, drying his back and side. Jazz looked at him quizzically.  
“I do not do a job halfway, Jazz.”  
Jazz hummed, leaning into the servos. Prowl let him, knowing it was futile to try and stop him. Jazz grinned, resting his servo flat on the tactician’s thigh, stroking softly. Prowl faltered, sucking in air.  
“Jazz!”  
Jazz chuckled, not moving his servo. Prowl growled, grabbing it.  
“Servos. To yourself.” He grit out, pushing his servo to his side.  
“Sure, Prowler.” He could feel the glare.  
Prowl stepped away. Jazz turned, grabbing another towel. Smirking, he snuck up behind Prowl and flung it to drape over his doorwings. Prowl whipped his helm around to glare at him.  
“No.” He said firmly. “No.”  
Jazz pouted. Prowl’s glare didn’t falter. With a sigh, Jazz slouched. “Alright Prowler. You win.”  
Prowl switched from glaring to stern. “I do not wish to hurt your feelings, Jazz.” And he truly didn’t. “However, your actions tonight lead me to believe you have less than wholesome intentions, and allowing you close to my doorwings again may lead to a... situation.”  
Jazz stared at him blankly. Well. No one ever accused Prowl of being unobservant. Maybe he was being too obvious.  
“Alright. What if I am?”  
Prowl looked at the floor, removing the towel from his wings. He wasn’t the kind to just hop into berth with another. But Jazz was the person he was closest to. Still though, just... interfacing with no reason... Prowl’s processor was spitting data at him at an alarming rate. The pros, the cons...  
“Tonight?”  
Jazz narrowed his optics behind his visor, studying the mech before him. He was nervous. “Nah. Not tonight. You don’t want it.”  
Truthfully, Jazz hadn’t expected him to figure it out for a while. He had the outline of a plan to court him in his head, and some part of him still wanted to see it through.  
“That’s not what I meant.”  
Jazz snapped out of his thoughts. “Huh?”  
Prowl stared at him. “I meant, do you intend for this,” He gestured between them. “To be just for one night?”  
Jazz shrugged. “If ya want. Could be longer.” He wouldn’t mind having a relationship with Prowl, for awhile at least. They were compatible, to a certain extent, and he wasn’t bad on the optics.  
Prowl walked forward, presenting him the towel. Jazz took it, confused. Prowl turned around, presenting his doorwings to him.  
“Court me. We’ll see how far it goes.”  
Prowl sighed as Jazz started on his doorwings. Jazz wanted to play a game of sparks. Okay.  
Two could play that game.


	3. Chapter 3

Jazz hummed as he danced down the hallway. This was a morning of boundless opportunity. Now that the gears of courting had been set in motion, he could break out all of his tricks to woo his soon-to-be lover.  
Jazz entered his code into the keypad by the door to Prowl’s office, spinning on one pede as the door swished open. He smiled widely as he saw Prowl hunched over his desk. The Praxian was so cute when he was focused.  
“Hey, Prowler!”  
Prowl’s doorwings twitched, though he didn’t look up from his work. “Hello Jazz. How are you this morning?”  
“Ah’m good! How ‘bout y’urself?”  
“I am well.”  
Jazz plopped down into the chair on the other side of his desk, unsubspacing an energon cube and placing it in front of the working mech. “That’s good, though you’d probably feel better if ya didn’t skip y’ur morning ration.”  
Prowl frowned, looking up at the cube, then Jazz. “Pardon?”  
Jazz snickered. “Ya neva get y’ur mornin’ ration! I’m in the rec room every mornin’; Ah know, Prowler, y’ur neva there.”  
Prowl stared at him. “I… I see.” He looked at the cube, picking it up gently. “Thank you, Jazz.”  
Jazz unsubspaced his own cube, taking a sip. “Not a problem, Prowler.”  
Prowl set the cube down, returning to his report. Jazz continued to sip his cube, humming to himself. He stretched, lifting his legs and crossing them on the desk. Prowl glared at him, but Jazz only smiled widely in return. Prowl huffed, going back to his work. Jazz hid his triumphant smile in his cube.  
Prowl sighed as he set his work aside. He rest his chin in his servo, studying Jazz and sipping slowly from his cube. Jazz stared back, tilting his head to the side. Finally, Prowl broke the silence.  
“So is this how you intend to court me?”  
Jazz chuckled. “Y’ur a pretty straight forward mech, Prowler.” He tossed his empty cube into the disposal bin by Prowl’s desk. “Yeah, Ah suppose. Though this is only a small part in the first of many steps ‘n’ stages.”  
“I see.” Prowl looked at his now empty cube. “I must admit, I am at a bit of a loss at how I should go about courting you. We are quite different from each other.”  
“Court meh? Didn’t know ya wanted ta.”  
“A relationship is between two people. Shouldn’t those two people both be trying to win the other’s affections?”  
Jazz smiled. That was adorable. “Ah suppose so.”  
Prowl nodded. “I thought so. That still leaves me at a loss on how to court you.”  
Jazz stood, walking around the desk and throwing his good arm over his shoulder. “My advice? Ask around. Try Blaster, or Blue, heck, even Mirage! They’ll tell ya somethin’.”  
Prowl tensed at the contact, but relaxed a little as Jazz started to talk. “I see. I will do that.”  
“Good.” Jazz purred, rubbing his cheek against Prowl’s. “Ah gotta hit the road, Prowler. See ya ‘round.” Jazz laughed, releasing the other mech and prancing out of the room.  
Prowl watched as Jazz left, reaching up and gently touching his cheek. He rose from his desk, walking to the door himself. He had research to do.

Jazz rubbed his arm. Ratchet had removed the brace to check the condition of his arm, and reattaching it made it both itchy and sore. He punched his code in, sighing as the door to his own office slid open. He set the lights to low, falling into his chair and retracting his visor, rubbing his optics.  
He hurt. All over, a dull ache permeated his body. Full body check-ups did that to him. At least he’d get his arm back soon. According to Ratchet, he had a week left before they could fix it.  
Still too fragging long in his opinion.  
He sighed, his visor clicking back into place. He stared at his desk, knowing it would be a mess.  
Except it wasn’t. All his datapads were sorted into neat stacks, lined up along the front of his desk, arranged in order of most pressing to already done. In the middle of his desk, a small data chip sat atop another datapad. He picked up the pad, setting the chip aside.  
  
 _Jazz,_  
 _Your friends informed me that you despised desk work, and as such keep a very messy workstation. I took the time to straighten your things so that it would be easier and quicker for you to complete._  
 _Blaster, when I mentioned I was aware of your love of human culture, suggested a few bands that you liked. I gathered some of the songs that he said you didn’t have together on a chip for you._  
 _Prowl_  
  
Jazz couldn’t help but smile. It was so… Prowl. Still work oriented. It was nice of him to do though. Jazz could picture him mumbling to himself about how terrible a mess it was, and having to restrain himself from writing out a lecture for the saboteur. He could also imagine the awkward conversations he must have had with everyone. Well, not Blaster. It was hard not to get on with a mech like him.  
He picked up the chip, inserting it into a slot on his wrist. He smiled as music filled his audios. It was a new song, like Prowl had said.  
He leaned back in his chair, grabbing a pad from the stack labeled “Most Pressing”. Between the two of them, it was going to be an interesting courtship. Jazz mentally went through his long list of courting techniques that he had gathered over the vorns. So many options, but so limited at the same time! Many of his methods wouldn’t work on Prowl. He was just too logical. He was a puzzle to crack; an enigma.  
Jazz signed the report, setting it down and moving on to the next. At least all the desk work would give him plenty of time to think.

Prowl paused as he walked down the hallway to his office. From where he was, he could hear music floating from the rec room. Considering how early in the morning it was…  
Prowl took the seat across from Jazz with as much grace as his nervousness would allow. While he was confident in most of his abilities, flirting was not one of those abilities. Jazz looked up at him, and Prowl started when he realized he was actually looking into his optics.  
“I did not realize your visor was retractable.”  
Jazz chuckled. “Most don’t. But tha’s not a bad thing. It makes me more mysterious.” He winked at the mech across from him. “An’ it’s good for missions. All kinds of different settin’s, pretty useful.”  
Prowl nodded, taking a sip from the cube he had retrieved as he entered. “I suppose you are enjoying the music?”  
Jazz smiled widely. “Ah am. Thanks, Prowler.”  
Prowl nodded again. “I am glad you are enjoying them so much.”  
Jazz stared at him, laughing lightly. He shook his helm. “C’mon, Prowler.” He nudged the mech’s leg with his pede. “Ain’t nobody else here but you an’ me. Loosen up a little!”  
Prowl frowned. “I… I am afraid I am not quite able to.” He fidgeted a little in his seat. “Letting loose, as you put it, is not something I have ever really done before. Even before the war.”  
“Well,” Jazz stood, walking around the table to settle into the chair beside Prowl. He scooted closer, pressing his side against the tactician and wrapping his arm around him. “Learn, mech.” He purred, brushing the tip of his nose against the cables of the tactician’s neck. Prowl shivered, but leaned into the touch, despite his processor protesting the action. He raised his servo, placing it over the one that was resting on his waist. Jazz sighed, melting against him.  
“Good mornin’, Prowler.”  
“Good morning, Jazz.”

Jazz smiled as he picked up the disc on his desk the next morning. A quick read over the accompanying datapad told him it was a DVD, like he had suspected. A James Bond movie? Even better. He popped it in the slot on his console, letting the movie play as he began to work on the hill of work his desk was quickly accumulating.

That afternoon, Prowl was surprised as the door to his office chimed. He stood and walked to the door, frowning when he didn’t see anyone. However, as he turned to walk back into his office, an object on the floor caught his eye. He smiled as he bent down, picking the object up. A flower made of red crystals, surprisingly unfragile, and a quick internet search told him a… red daisy, in particular. And another search told him that such a gift meant… well. He smiled shyly as he subspaced the gift. Jazz definitely knew how to make a mech feel good about themselves, at least.

Jazz had a particular spring in his step as he walked to the medbay. Finally, finally! He could get his arm fixed. His smile turned mischievous. And with the use of his arm back, he could take his courting to the next step. A more… _physical_ , step.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A red daisy symbolizes "beauty unknown to the possessor". I thought it was cute.  
> And I'm sorry if it seems rushed, but I didn't really know how to stretch it out. I assure you that the next chapter gets good, however.


	4. Chapter 4

Prowl sighed as he looked around himself.  
He would never rob his comrades of their post-victory celebrations. He wasn’t cruel. But they were definitely not his type of venue. He preferred quiet to the loudness of the music pouring from the music system Blaster had set up. He didn’t much care for crowds either.  
But he had promised Jazz he would make an appearance. He had even helped set up for the party (though that was partially so he would be there before anyone else and not have to make an entrance). But he would still rather be elsewhere. At least the party, plus his own lack of attention, gave him an opportunity to study the assembled mechs. He was fascinated by them, really. Not just those here; bots in general. Why they did what they did, how they interacted, all so intriguing.  
Off in a booth in one corner, he could see Wheeljack, Ratchet practically in his lap, laughing at something Ironhide had said. He couldn’t see him, but he was pretty sure his commanding officer was sitting beside the old red mech. Casting his gaze to the makeshift bar that had been set up, he watched Cliffjumper make a wild gesture with his arm, high grade spilling from his cube to drip down his servo. His optics then shifted to the doorway, where Sunstreaker was leading Perceptor out, a servo on ghosting down his frame as his twin whispered something to him. Finally, he settled back into his dark corner of the room, watching the mechs in the area dubbed a dance floor.  
Most of the crew, if not passed out, was there in one swirling mass. He could seem glimpses of everyone, but rarely a whole body. But he wasn’t interested in them. He only had optics for the visored mech dancing on the edges of the crowd.

Jazz smiled as he mingled with his crew mates. He lived for this kind of stuff! He had got his arm fixed right in time for the party too. Every so often, his optics would drift to the dark booth the Praxian had staked a claim to. He could see him watching everyone from his position. It was both a little creepy and a little arousing. Jazz purred, making sure to dance where Prowl could see him. If the mech was watching, why not give him a show?  
Jazz’s smile grew as the song came to an end. He had a plan, and he was more than ready to enact it.  
 _::Blasta? Ya know that favor Ah talked ta ya ‘bout? Ah’m callin’ it in, mech.::_  
 _::A’right. Gimme a sec.::_  
Jazz watched as his friend hit a button on his makeshift DJ booth, before sliding out of it and heading into the crowd. As the next song started, Jazz felt a pair of servos grip his hips.  
“Ya sure Blue won’t mind ya doin’ this?” Jazz asked, tilting his helm back to rest it on the orange mech’s shoulder.  
“Nah. I’ll just hafta explain it to him. Besides,” Blaster glanced at his lover from the edge of his vision. “You’re not the only one lookin’ to put on a show.”  
“Is he watchin’?”  
“Oh yeah.”  
“Then we’d betta’ not disappoint.”

Prowl felt something rather nasty well up inside of him as he watched Blaster and Jazz dance together. Had Jazz just abandoned him? Illogical; but, this was Jazz.  
Jealousy. That’s what he was feeling.  
And wasn’t Blaster with Bluestreak anyway? He caught sight of the sniper leaning on the bar, watching the two as he sipped from his cube. He had the same expression Mirage tended to wear: cold magnanimity. Hm. So he was a little miffed.  
Prowl turned his attention back on the two dancing mechs. Through the haze of his emotions, Prowl had to admit it was an attractive sight. Where one alone was very good, together they were amazing. Prowl sipped from his cube. Was this a part of Jazz’s plan perhaps? Make him jealous?  
Prowl relaxed a little as the song came to a close and the two mechs parted; Blaster made his way towards the bar, while Jazz… headed straight for Prowl.  
The saboteur slid gracefully into the seat across from him, grinning. “Enjoy the show?”  
Prowl feigned disinterest, tipping his cube back again. “Is that what it was?”  
Jazz leaned forward, catching Prowl’s servo midair and tipping it his way, sipping from the cube. “Mhm. Ah had an audience, didn’ Ah?”  
Prowl said nothing, setting the now empty cube on the table. One of his doorwings twitched downwards. Jazz smiled. “So tell meh- didja?”

Blaster set his arm on the bar, resting his weight against it. “So how’s your night been, baby?”  
Bluestreak didn’t look at him. “Boring, honestly. I’ve just been standing here, alone, sipping a cube and listening to the minis swap stories.”  
Blaster smiled sheepishly. “You’re more than welcome to join me in the booth, sweetspark. It can get a little lonely up there.”  
Bluestreak sniffed derisively. “Oh really? You didn’t seem to be lacking for company a moment ago.”  
Blaster sighed. He stroked one doorwing soothingly. “Come ta the booth dear. I have some explaining to do.”

“I will admit, you do make an attractive sight.”  
Jazz laughed. “Is that all? I was hopin’ for a bit more’n attractive.” He leaned forward again, leaving little space between his face and Prowl’s. “Or were ya too lost in da haze of jealousy ta notice?”  
Prowl looked straight ahead, not meeting the saboteur’s visor. “Jazz. Remove your face from its close proximity to mine, or I will do something regrettable.”  
“Oh yeah?” Jazz inched even closer. “Try meh.” He whispered, his lips grazing Prowl’s.  
Prowl snapped. Maybe it was the high grade. Maybe it was his emotions. Maybe it was just the moment, the sexual tension between them.  
Prowl’s optics met the Porsche’s for a brief moment before he cupped his face, yanked him the fraction of an inch closer and kissed him.  
Jazz sputtered for a moment. Whoa. Not entirely expecting that course of action. Wasn’t expecting it to be so _good_ either.  
After a moment hesitation, Jazz groaned, tilting his helm to the side and probing the mech’s mouth with his glossa. Prowl opened his mouth invitingly, his servos gliding from his face to his upper arms. He tugged, wanting the mech closer to him. Jazz groaned again, crawling across the table and straddling his lap, throwing his arms over the Datsun’s shoulders.  
Prowl sighed into the kiss. His processor was shrieking at the top of its metaphorical lungs, but he didn’t care. It actually felt rather nice; liberating, in a way.  
They pulled back, not far, but enough to put space between them. Jazz licked his lips.  
“Damn, Prowler. And in the middle of the rec room, no less.”  
Embarrassment filled the tactician. Had he just… He buried his face in the space between Jazz’s shoulder and neck.  
Jazz chuckled. “Relax, Prowler. No one saw.”  
Prowl risked a peak from his hiding spot. He sighed in relief, pulling back. True to his word, no one had seen. In fact, not many mechs were left. Ratchet and Wheeljack were still there, though Ironhide and Optimus were not. The dance floor was deserted, and only a few stragglers remained at the bar (including Cliffjumper, who was laying face first on top of it). Blaster and Bluestreak were up in his little booth- oh. Perhaps Bluestreak wasn’t so mad at him after all, if they were doing _that_.  
A teasing brush to one of his doorwings brought his attention back to the mech in his lap. “See? Ain’t nobody around ta notice.”  
Prowl nodded. He rubbed one arms, the other servo travelling down and stroking a thigh. “Jazz. While I am not a mech to rush into things, I am going to make an exception this time, if you wish.”  
Jazz gaped at him, then chuckled huskily. “Ah’d like that. A lot, actually.”  
“Very well. I must admit, I am eager to see if you are as… mobile, in berth as you are on the dance floor.”  
Jazz grinned seductively. “Ah assure you- actually, Ah’ll just let ya find out on y’ur own.”  
Jazz slid from his lap, standing beside him and offering him his servo. “An’ this time, my quarters are closer.”  
Prowl took his servo, standing gracefully. “True.” He gestured towards the door. “I suppose, then, in your own words: lead the way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter gets to the sticky stuff.


	5. Chapter 5

Jazz couldn’t keep his servos to himself as they walked to his quarters. He kept touching Prowl, stroking his servos down his sides, his hips, across his doorwings. One time he palmed the tactician’s aft, but the dirty look sent discouraged him from doing it again. He’d have time later though.  
He quickly entered the code for his quarters, letting Prowl go in first before following him, the door sliding shut behind them. He immediately grabbed the Praxian, one servo on his hip, the other on the back of his helm, and pulled him in for another searing kiss. He moaned when Prowl reciprocated, pawing at his frame. He pulled back, only so that he could attack his neck. Prowl tilted his helm back, allowing him easier access.  
“Shouldn’t we at least, ah, make it to the berth first?” Prowl asked.  
“Floor’s fine.” Jazz muttered into his neck. “Or maybe the wall…” he mused, loving the shiver it elicited from his soon to be lover. “C’mon then. Ta th’ berth with ya.”  
Jazz guided Prowl backward until his legs hit the berth. He tumbled onto it, releasing Jazz as he did. Jazz stepped back, admiring the mech splayed across his berth.  
“Ya make an attractive site ta see, Prowler.” he purred, crawling onto the berth after him.  
Prowl scoffed. “That is the point, isn’t it?” He wrapped his arms around the saboteur’s neck as he crawled over him, rubbing the back of his helm. He rose up a little, pressing their mouths together. Jazz licked at his lips, coaxing them open and exploring the interior of his mouth. Prowl moaned, arching his back as Jazz slipped his digits into a gap in his plating. He ran his servos down his back, enjoying the feeling of his plating beneath his servos. He trailed them up again, one rising to stroke one of the sensory horns atop Jazz’s helm. Jazz groaned, pulling back from the kiss to tilt his helm into the touch.  
“I was wondering about their sensitivity.” Prowl commented conversationally, as if they weren’t panting and aroused.   
Jazz looked down at him, retracting his visor. “Uh-huh. ‘M sure ya were.” He dipped his helm down, licking the edge of Prowl’s chevron. Prowl shivered. “Ah’ve got plenty o’ spots on y’ur body that Ah’d like ta test the sensitivity of.” Jazz whispered seductively. Prowl growled, staring at Jazz. A challenge.  
Jazz nipped the edge of Prowl’s chevron, rooting around in his subspace for… yes! Jazz pulled back, just long enough for Prowl to catch the smirk on his face before swooping forward and grabbing both of the tactician’s wrists. He handcuffed them to the top of the berth, sitting back to admire his handiwork. Prowl sputtered, arching his back as he pulled on the restraints. He fell back on the berth, staring at Jazz with wide optics.  
“Saboteur.” Jazz winked.  
Prowl huffed. “As if I was not already aware of your prowess.”  
Jazz laughed. “Babe, I’m gonna give ya a whole new meanin’ ta that phrase!” He crawled up Prowl’s body, trailing his lips over the heating metal until he reached the mech’s face. “Say, ya wanna arch y’ur back like that for meh one more time?”  
Prowl smirked. “How about you make me?” he purred.  
Jazz didn’t bother replying vocally, instead going after the mech’s chevron again. Prowl whimpered and shivered, his servos clenching above his helm. He brushed his lips against Jazz’s cheek, raising his hips slightly into Jazz’s just to tease him. Jazz growled, moving from his chevron to his neck, then off to the side to lick a broad swipe up his doorwing.  
“Jazz!” Prowl gasped, writhing against the berth as the Porsche pecked a line of kisses down the path he had just made with his glossa.  
“Mm, jus’ like that babe.” he murmured, loving the way Prowl said his name. “C’mon Prowler, say my name.”  
“Jazz.” Prowl panted. “Jazz. Jazz.”  
“Louder.” Jazz urged, scraping his denta along the bottom edge of the opposite wing.  
“Ja-azz!” Prowl moaned, his back arching.  
“Good boy.” Jazz purred. “That’s it. Come undone for meh.”  
“Jazz, please.” Prowl whimpered, tugging on his bonds and pushing his hips against the others.  
“Hm.” Jazz seared a line of burning kisses down Prowl’s body until he reached his interface panel. “Been a while, mech?” he asked, rubbing the heating metal.  
Prowl nodded. “Not since the war really started up.”  
“Ah. Was wonderin’ why ya seemed so sensitive ta ev’rythin’.” Jazz mused. He tapped the panel under his fingers. “Open for meh, Prowler.”  
Prowl’s panel swept back, revealing both his spike and valve. Jazz purred, examining both. “And now here’s the dilemma. Do Ah wanna take ya, hard, poundin’ ya inta the berth?” He placed a kiss to the wet valve for emphasis, relishing in the needy, high-pitched whine he got. “Or.” He kissed the base of his spike. “Do Ah wanna ride ya, have ya fill meh up, and you just have to watch and feel meh do it.”  
“Jazz!” Prowl cried out.   
Jazz smiled. “Mm, that does sound like a good idea, doesn’t it?” He crawled forward again, letting his still closed panel hover over Prowl’s spike and bracing his servos on Prowl’s chestplates. “Whaddya think? Enjoyin’ the view?”  
Prowl fought the urge to buck his hips. “Very much so.” he said, struggling to control his voice. “However, I would like it much better if you were already sinking down on me.” he purred, licking his lips.  
Jazz gasped, laughing. “And who am Ah ta deny ya!” He clicked his panel back, and looked Prowl in the optic as he lowered himself onto his spike, moaning.  
Prowl cursed, pulling futilely on the restraints. It was too much, physically and visually. Jazz sighed and gave a satisfied moan as he reached the base of Prowl’s spike, wiggling his hips. Prowl hissed, his optics glued to where their bodies joined. Jazz leaned down and kissed him slowly, clenching and unclenching his valve. Prowl threw his head back, his back bowing off the berth. Jazz smiled, enjoying that he could drive a mech who was normally so collected to this point. He rose up, tracing Prowl’s sides with his servos to get his attention, bracing them on his chestplates again when he got it.  
“Brace yourself.” he whispered. He rose up, slowly, his optics dimming as he focused on the feeling of Prowl’s spike sliding against the walls of his valve. He paused with just the tip left inside, teasing them both, watching Prowl pant and whine softly, his helm turned to hide it in his arm. Jazz moved one servo to squeeze the Datsun’s side, sliding back down his spike. Then up again, then down. He set a fast rhythm, knowing neither of them were going to last. There would be other times, though.  
Prowl thrust his hips up to meet Jazz each time he thrust down, running partly on instinct at this point. His optics were bright, not wanting to lose a moment of this; Jazz, riding him, moaning wantonly with his helm thrown back, gasping out his designation. He wanted his servos free so badly, wanted to be able to touch, to taste. Next time. Next time, and that thought sent a shiver through him, making a sharp cry burst from his lips and a sharp thrust of his hips thrust his spike hard into Jazz.  
Jazz cried out, startled, his optics flaring at the sudden bolt of pleasure that swept through him. He offlined his optics, and with a broken, drawn out cry of Prowl’s designation overloaded hard.  
Prowl’s mouth dropped open, watching Jazz lose himself over top of him, still riding him. The combination of sight, sound, and feeling threw Prowl into his own overload, his back arching for the last time, transfluid shooting into the saboteur.  
The room quieted, the whir of their fans and their panting soft compared to the noise they had been making. Jazz leaned over Prowl’s body, helm down, his arms shaky but still holding him up. Prowl watched him, his optics sweeping over his sated frame. He felt… relaxed, like he hadn’t in a long time.  
“Jazz.” Prowl called softly. Jazz hummed in response, but didn’t otherwise move. “Jazz, the cuffs.” Prowl whispered, not wanting to move but wanting his arms free. Jazz nodded, and after a moment lifted himself slowly off of Prowl’s spike. They both hissed, everything overly sensitive post-overload. Jazz lazily dragged himself up Prowl’s frame, releasing the cuffs and flopping on top of him. Prowl rubbed his wrists briefly, looking at Jazz’s dim optics. He shut his panel, settling into a more comfortable position on the berth. Jazz whined, shifting around until he sprawled across the Praxian, legs tangled together and helm tucked under his chin. Prowl raised on servo, petting his back as he fell into one of the most relaxed recharges he had in a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I made a basic outline, and I'm estimating about 10 chapters total, 12 if I stretch it. Definitely won't get to or past 15 though.


	6. Chapter 6

Jazz was in no hurry to come out of recharge the next morning. He couldn’t really remember the last time he had felt so relaxed either. Slowly, he onlined his optics, sitting up and stretching a little. He looked down at the mech still in recharge under him, smiling.  
Prowl’s face was smooth in recharge, the constant look of stress and preoccupation gone. He was rather handsome; not that he wasn’t always, but in the grips of recharge he looked… younger. It was alluring. If Jazz didn’t already desire him, he certainly would be now. He gently caressed the side of the tactician’s face, laughing breathily when he leaned into the touch. It was cute. Not a word one would normally associate with their Second in Command, but true nonetheless.  
Jazz yawned, settling back on top his lover. He stroked one doorwing with the tips of his fingers, the flat plane of metal heating up slightly under his touch. He thought back to last night, and how hot the metal had been under his tongue. His smiled turned devious, and he looked down at the two of them. They both still carried evidence of their affair, between the splatters of transfluid and paint transfers. Not to mention the cuffs still sitting innocently above their heads. Jazz turned his helm back to his lover’s face.  
His lover. He could get used to that.  
Jazz frowned at the thought. Sure, he had possessive tendencies, and yeah Prowl was a good lay. But…  
Jazz started as he felt the Praxian shift under him, coming online. He quashed the feeling welling up in his spark, pulling a half-seductive, half-teasing grin onto his face just as blue optics lit up. He watched amused as Prowl took a moment to observe his surroundings, finally settling his gaze upon Jazz himself.  
“Mornin’ Prowler.” Jazz purred.  
Prowl raised his arms to wrap them around Jazz’s back. “Yes, good morning Jazz. I trust you recharged well?”  
Jazz hummed happily, stretching out over the tactician. “Yup. Y’ur comfy ta lay on.”  
“I see.”  
Jazz nuzzled against the tactician’s chestplates, purring softly. “How long ‘til we got somewhere ta be?”  
“Not long. A groon maybe?” Prowl shrugged. For once he found himself not caring too much about keeping a schedule.  
Jazz sighed, sitting up and stretching his arms over his helm. “Well then, Ah suppose we should start gettin’ cleaned up.”  
Prowl looked at the two of them as Jazz stood. “Indeed.” he agreed, taking the offered servo and standing himself. The saboteur led them into his washrack, turning the water on and letting steam fill the room. He pulled the other mech to him as he stepped under the spray, wrapping his arms tightly around him and pulling him flush.  
“Bit o’ déjà vu, hm?” Jazz commented, stroking between his doorwings.  
“Indeed. Though you didn’t have the use of that arm last time.” Prowl mumbled, tilting his face to the spray.  
“True. But Ah think it’s better this way, don’t you?”  
“Yeesss.” Prowl hissed and arched his back one servo dug into the space where his doorwing met his back, while the other drifted down and rubbed his aft. He gripped Jazz’s arms, staring into his optics. “Jazz.”  
“Yeah babe?”  
“Are we about to interface in the shower?”  
“Oh yeah.”  
“Mm. I find this agreeable.”  
“Ah thought ya would.”

Prowl walked into his office just as his shift was scheduled to start, earning him plenty of odd looks in the hallways. At least, he reasoned that was the reason for the looks. He looked down at himself quickly as he sat, not noticing any remaining marks on his frame. Perhaps he was carrying himself differently? Prowl shrugged it off. He didn’t care too much about what the other mechs thought of him, as long as it didn’t interfere with their work. He had dealt with it almost all of his life; by now he was used to it. He looked up as the door to his office swished open, allowing Bluestreak to enter.  
“Good morning Prowl! How are you this morning? I hope you’re doing well?” Bluestreak questioned as he walked in.  
“I’m quite well, thank you. I take it those are for me?” He motioned to the datapads Bluestreak was carrying. Bluestreak looked down at them, then back at Prowl, shaking his helm.  
“Nope! They’re for Jazz! He told me to bring them to your office. Said he’d be in here for most of the day. I suppose he plans on doing them in here.” The gray mech looked around. “I suppose you and he have grown rather close lately, huh?”  
Prowl rest his chin on his palm to hide his smile. “Bluestreak.” He kept his tone low and even, perhaps even a little menacing.  
Bluestreak jumped a little, his doorwings twitching. “I’m sorry! It’s just that, well, you and he spent a lot of time together while he was recovering, and I know he likes you a lot, and you seem to like him too, and I know you two were together last night, because Blaster was telling me about it, because he and Jazz had this plan and it worked and-”  
Prowl held up his servo. “Enough, Bluestreak.”  
Bluestreak sputtered to a stop, his jaw audibly clicking shut. Prowl had to force down a chuckle. “Set the pads on the desk and leave, if you would.”  
Bluestreak nodded, setting the pads down and making a quick exit. Once the door securely shut, Prowl allowed himself to laugh. He immediately schooled his features into a professional façade when the door opened again, but softened the look when he saw it was just Jazz.  
“Prowler!” The saboteur danced over to the seat across from Prowl (that was quickly becoming his seat), plopping into it and looking at the desk with a grin. “Ah see mah delivery made it to ya.”  
“Indeed.” Prowl couldn’t keep the humor from his voice.  
Jazz tilted his helm to the side, the light catching on his visor. He smirked and started cackling. “What did ya do to the poor mech?”  
“Nothing much.” Prowl quipped, picking up a pad.  
Jazz shook his helm, picking up his own pad and beginning to read it. “You ain’t right Prowler. By the way, how are we gonna settle our sleepin’ arrangements?”  
Prowl looked up at him, confused. “Sleeping arrangements?”  
Jazz smiled. “Yeah. Y’urs or mine?”  
Prowl’s doorwings flicked. “Ah.” He thought it over for a moment, before shrugging. “I suppose we shall just decide day to day on the matter.”  
Jazz nodded. “Sounds good ta me. Long as Ah get more mornin’s like this one, Ah’ll be happy.”  
Prowl looked back down at his datapad, but Jazz still caught the smile and the embarrassed quiver of his doorwings.

Jazz looked up from the datapad he was reading, intent on asking Prowl a question, but stopped with his words caught in his throat.  
He had wondered, sometimes, about why there were windows in their offices. This was a space ship, ya know? Not that he had ever complained. He loved Earth. Now though, he was especially thankful for the windows.  
Sunlight poured in from the window just to the tactician’s left, filling the room with light. The contrasting lights and shadows caught the Praxian’s frame in a way that showed off every curve and angle. But it was more than that. The mech _glowed_ , the way the light reflected off of him. His wings cast two large shadows on the desk in front of him, making him looking imposing while the content, almost serene look on his face made him look benevolent.  
When the humans had explained angels to him, he had mostly gotten it. But _now_. Now, he understood.  
“You’re staring Jazz.” Prowl commented softly, not looking up. “And your mouth is hanging open.”  
Jazz didn’t care. He couldn’t look away. He was entranced; hypnotized. Prowl smiled, still without looking up, and reached across the desk, gently closing Jazz’s mouth.  
Jazz jerked back to awareness, shocked.  
Love. This was love.  
Frag.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun-dun-duuuuunnnnnn!


	7. Chapter 7

Jazz paced around his quarters liked a caged beast, making wild gestures with his arms and shaking his helm, growling and whining. He had been doing this for groons, trying to make sense of the… development in his spark.  
The only conclusion he could come up with was that he loved Prowl. And that was not a good thing.  
He wasn’t supposed to fall in love. With anyone. He was supposed to jump from partner to partner as he pleased, enjoy them while they lasted, then move on when someone else caught his fancy. He didn’t do love. Or commitment.  
What was it about the tactician? He had been wondering that since he had first decided to bed him. Had he been becoming enamored with him this whole time? Jazz sat heavily on the edge of his berth, retracting his visor and rubbing the space between his optics.  
“Primus… Ah’m over mah helm…”  
He honestly had no idea what to do. And that thought scared him more than anything. He was the best saboteur the Autobots had- it was his job to know everything. But he was clueless as to this.  
He slid off the berth, pedes leading him out the door and down the hallway. Blaster. He needed to find Blaster. He’d know what to do.

Blaster was in his quarters, listening to music and dozing off. When Jazz entered however, half frenzied and half gloomy, he immediately sat at attention.  
“Jazz? Jazz, ya feelin’ alright? Sit down, talk tam eh mech.”  
Jazz sat beside Blaster on the berth, thankful it was just Blaster here. “Ah fragged up, Blaster.” he mumbled quietly, looking down.  
Blaster reeled back. “Woah. Woah. Am I the one ya need ta be talkin’ to? Sure this isn’t a matta’ for security?”  
“Not that kinda frag up. Blaster… frag, Blaster, Ah’m in love.”  
Blaster fell silent. He could only stare at his depressed, near panicked friend. Slowly, a smile spread across his face. “Congratulations.”  
Jazz jerked his helm around to stare at him. “Congratulations? Congratulations! Blasta!” He stood up, throwing his arms out to the sides. “Ah’m not supposed ta fall in love! Eva! It’s who Ah am! But look at meh! Ah’ve gone an’ fallen in love with Prowl of all mechs!” His arms fell to his sides and he looked at the ground. “Ah just can’t make sense of it.”  
“Love isn’t supposed to make sense mech.” Blaster said, patting the berth beside him. “Take a seat, mech, and let’s talk things out.”  
Jazz flopped down on his stomach beside his friend. Blaster lay back, folding his arms under his helm. “Alright, mech. What makes ya say y’ur in love with our lovely Second?”  
Jazz shrugged his shoulders. “Ah just know. Ah can feel it in mah spark. There’s just a pull Ah feel towards him. Ah… it’s hard ta explain.”  
“Nah, I understand. I used ta be like ya, remember? Before I got with Blue?”  
Jazz nodded, smirking and giving him a lewd look. “Ah remember.”  
Blaster chuckled. “Al’ight, al’ight, ya get my point though.”  
Jazz sighed. “Yeah, Ah get ya. Ah just… Ah don’t understand how it happened!”  
Blaster turned on his side, propping his helm on his servo. “I take it ya just figured it out?”  
Jazz nodded. “We were just sittin’ in his office. Ah just looked up an’… Ah just felt it. It was perfect. He was just sittin’ there and he was just…” Jazz sighed, burying his face in his arms. “Ah got it bad, Blaster.”  
“Ain’t no better way, Jazz.” Blaster pat his helm consolingly. “Now all ya gotta do is tell ‘im!”  
“Easier said than done, mech.”

Prowl gave a once over to the mech glaring coldly at him from behind bars. “You know why you’re here, Sunstreaker. Fighting among crewmembers is unacceptable behavior. You should know this by now.”  
Sunstreaker sneered. “He had it coming.”  
Prowl kept his face blank. “Then in that respect, so did you.”  
Sunstreaker returned to scowling. “To what do I owe the honor of a special visit from everyone’s favorite Second in Command anyway? Shouldn’t you be off fragging the party mech somewhere?”  
The only outward sign Prowl showed of his sudden change in attitude was a frown. “The relationship I have with Jazz is none of your concern, Sunstreaker.”  
Sunstreaker scoffed. “Relationship.” he muttered skeptically, making air quotes around the word. “As if you could call it that.”  
Prowl bristled. “Excuse me?”  
Sunstreaker smirked, but quickly hid it, looking disinterestedly at the corner of his cell. “Oh? You mean you haven’t figured it out with all your processing power? Jazz only wants you for a quick frag. I mean, really, think about it: who would want to be in an actual relationship with you?”  
Prowl barely contained his flinch. The words stabbed at his spark violently, twisting and tearing. He had thought about that. He had known, some part of him. But he had let himself get caught up in the thrill of it all. And it was now costing him dearly. “That may be your opinion Sunstreaker, but it is just that- an opinion. And please, keep it to yourself. It is a very poor one in all honesty.”  
He hitched his doorwings up high, turned on his heel, and marched out of the brig, leaving an aghast Lamborghini and his shattered spark behind him.

Prowl stared at the blank wall of his office.  
He should have seen this coming. He really should have.  
Actually, he shouldn’t have allowed Jazz to get so close to him in the first place. Most of his past relationships had ended on sour notes. It only made sense that this one would too. He had just enjoyed his time with Jazz so much.  
Prowl frowned as he considered Sunstreaker’s words. It didn’t _seem_ like Jazz was only interested in pursuing a physical fling. He seemed to be too emotionally invested for that. It seemed like he actually _cared_ for Prowl, liked no one else ever had before.  
Or maybe that was part of his scheme. Maybe that was how he lured mechs in. Mechs like Prowl anyway.  
Prowl covered his optics with his servo. If he was anyone else, he might have cried. But he was Prowl, head tactician and Second in Command. He wouldn’t cry. He wouldn’t. The liquid running down his face was a lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the plot thickens!


	8. Chapter 8

Jazz smiled as he pranced into Prowl’s office. He was going to do it. Today was the day. He was going to tell Prowl he loved him.  
“Hey Prowler!” he greeted as he took his usual seat. Prowl didn’t look up, or even acknowledge his presence. Jazz frowned, but shrugged it off. Maybe the tactician was having a rough start to the day. He set his pedes up on his desk, tilting his head backwards. “So Ah was thinkin’-”  
“Remove your pedes from my desk, Jazz.”  
Jazz looked at Prowl in shock. “Prowler? Ya okay, babe?”  
“My name is Prowl. Please refer to me as such.”  
Jazz gaped at the tactician. “Prowler! Babe, seriously. What’s wrong? You can tell meh!”  
Prowl sighed, setting down his datapad and finally looking at the saboteur. “Jazz. Please cease calling me babe. It is unprofessional, and we do not have that kind of relationship.”  
Jazz felt like he was simultaneously punched in the gut and smacked across the face. Not in that kind of relationship? He stared numbly at his lover. What was going on? “What? Prowler, wha-what are ya talkin’ ‘bout?”  
Prowl folded his servos in front of him. “It has recently come to my attention that you only wish to pursue a physical relationship with me. I cannot agree to those terms. Therefore, it is only logical that our relationship be terminated.”  
“Only physical? Who fragging told you that!” Oh frag. This was bad. This was very, very bad. Prowl didn’t need to know that, not now!  
“There is no need to yell.” Prowl said calmly. It was a little eerie. “Sunstreaker did. And while I would normally disregard anything that comes from his mouth, this time his words had a grain of truth to them. So I thought about it, and-”  
“And made a poor decision!” Jazz yelled. “Prowler, Ah-”  
“Please don’t interrupt me.”  
“Then don’t interrupt meh!” Jazz lunged across the desk and hooked his fingers under the top of Prowl’s chestplate, pulling him close. “Frag, mech, Ah lov-”  
Prowl didn’t think. It was all instinct really. The second Jazz grabbed him, he pulled his arm back. His fist collided with Jazz’s face with a resounding crack. Unfortunately, Jazz kept a firm grip on him, so when he flew backwards he dragged Prowl over the desk with him. They landed roughly with a loud thunk, Prowl splayed on top of Jazz, dazed. This close, Prowl could see how close the saboteur’s visor had come to cracking. He was quite surprised it hadn’t. Prowl’s mouth hung open slightly as stared at the mech below him, who stared up at him with the same expression. Prowl’s battle computer ran at warp speed, trying to figure out what Jazz had been trying to say. Given his emotional state, plus the beginning of his sentence-  
Oh _frag_. He was going to _slaughter_ Sunstreaker.  
“Jazz-”  
Whatever Prowl was about to say was cut off by Jazz shoving him off roughly. He stood quickly, and Prowl was pretty sure he was glaring at him behind the suddenly cold blue visor. Prowl stood shakily, reaching his servo out to Jazz. Jazz smacked the servo away, sneering.  
“Frag off, Prowl.” he snarled, spinning and storming out of the office.  
“Jazz, wait!” But it was too late. Jazz was gone.  
Prowl fell to his knees, staring at the door as it closed. He was gone. He hung his helm, his processor spinning in circles and hurting so bad he could barely think. He had been so sure that Jazz had been only interested in him for a physical relationship. Now he had come in professing his love? He was so confused!  
Prowl sent the remote lock to his door, dimmed the lights, and shuffled to his desk, sitting heavily into his chair and burying his helm in his servos. He was so confused. He needed to think of a way to fix this, and fast.

Jazz stormed into rec room, his helm swinging back and forth, servos clenching and unclenching, looking for the golden menace known as Sunstreaker. He was a mech on a mission. A murderous, murderous mission. He finally locked on to the bright yellow mech, lounging in a chair across from his twin.  
By the time Jazz was done with him, he wouldn’t be lounging for a long time to come.  
“Hey Sunstreaker. Buddy. Ah got somethin’ Ah’d like ta talk ta ya ‘bout…”

Prowl stared at Jazz, a set of bars separating them. He got an odd feeling of déjà vu, but suppressed it. He folded his arms behind his back, staring at the saboteur with a neutral, professional look.  
“You mauled him.”  
“Ta put it nicely. Ah think he deserved it.”  
“You know, I gave this same speech to him not too long ago.”  
Jazz paced up to the bars, resting his arms on them. “Didja now? How did that conversation turn out?”  
Prowl’s doorwings fell. “Jazz, I…” He ducked his helm, his wings drooping even more. “I’m so sorry.”  
Jazz frowned, pulling at a cut on his face. He hadn’t got out of his scrap with Sunny totally unscathed. Just mostly. “It’s okay Prowler. Ah forgive ya.”  
Prowl looked up at him, shocked, his doorwings rising into their normal position. “You do?”  
Jazz smiled softly. “Ah love ya Prowler. Of course Ah do.”  
Prowl frowned. “You shouldn’t.”  
“Like Ah care.” Jazz waved his servo. He frowned suddenly. “Honestly though? In the beginnin’, yeah, Ah did just wanna take ya ta the berth for a fling.” Prowl jerked, his optics widening. “But Ah don’t now!” Jazz quickly added. “Ah… ya’ve captured mah spark Prowler. Ah love ya. Ah don’t just want a fling with ya anymore.”  
Prowl stepped forward slowly, taking Jazz’s servos and cupping them to his face. “I’m glad. I… I don’t love you. But you are very special to me Jazz. Special in a way very few mechs have ever been before.”  
Jazz smiled and nodded, catching his hidden words. “Ah promise Ah won’t hurt ya Prowler. Not if Ah can help it.”  
Prowl sighed, smiling and relaxing. “That is all I ask of you.”  
Jazz pulled the mech close. “You’ll have that an’ more, babe.” he mumbled as their lips met between the bars.  
Who knew that his plans would turn into this?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's one little bit left. Because I'm evil like that.


	9. Chapter 9

Prowl glanced up as the door to his office whirred open. “Sunstreaker? How may I help you?”  
Sunstreaker pouted, looking to his left and sighing. “I came to apologize.” he mumbled forlornly.  
Prowl jerked a little. “I'm sorry. Repeat that?”  
Sunstreaker glared at him and sighed. “I came to apologize.” he repeated louder, enunciating each word.  
Prowl barely contained his self-satisfied smile. “I see.” He shifted in his seat, leaning backwards and lowering his hands to his lap. “That it very mature of you Sunstreaker. I’m glad you let Sideswipe and Perceptor convince you to do it.”  
Sunstreaker glowered at him. “Yeah, whatever.” he huffed, turning and marching out of the office with as much dignity as he could muster in his current state. Prowl kept it together until the door shut, before simultaneously laughing and moaning, lowering his helm.  
“Primus!”  
Jazz looked up at him from under his desk, winking as he took the tactician spike deeper into his mouth. Prowl smiled at him, continuing to caress his helm.  
“You’re devious.” he accused affectionately.  
Jazz released his spike with a pop, wrapping his servo around it and stroking it instead. “Ya like meh best that way.”  
“I do.” Prowl agreed. “Do you think he could tell?”  
“Sunny? Nah. Sounded like he was too busy sulkin’ ta meh.” Jazz answered, licking a broad stripe up the spike, taking it back into his mouth.  
Prowl hissed, arching his back. “You know just how to get me, Jazz.”  
Jazz hummed, wiggling happily at the praise. Prowl rubbed one of his sensory horns, contemplating locking the door to his office. Jazz moaned around his spike, and coherent thought suddenly was a foreign concept.  
“Jazz!” he gasped, overloading. Jazz moaned, eagerly taking all the transfluid he could. He pulled back, giving the spike a parting kiss, making sure to keep eye contact with the Praxian. He smiled coyly, winking at him again.  
“Think ya can go again?”  
Prowl smiled back, pushing his chair back and standing. Jazz crawled out from under the desk, taking the hand up and using it to pull his lover into a searing kiss. He spun them around, walking Prowl backwards until the backs of his legs hit his desk. Jazz backed away, leaving his lover to lean against the desk.  
Jazz smirked. “Turn around for me, babe.” Prowl shivered, doing as told. Jazz hummed. “Good. Now, lean over your desk.” Prowl did that too. “Good.” Jazz stepped up close, gripping his hips and leaning over his back, pressing their cheeks together. “Don’t move.” he whispered.  
He placed a slow line of kisses from Prowl’s cheek, down his neck and back, until he got to the cover for his valve. Jazz placed a wet kiss over it, circling it with his thumb. “Open up for meh, Prowler.”  
Prowl shivered again, spreading his legs wider and revealing his valve. Jazz gave it a broad swipe with his glossa before plunging it inside. Prowl moaned loudly, futilely trying to turn his helm to look at the saboteur. Jazz pulled back, quickly replacing his glossa with two fingers. He stood, leaning over Prowl’s back again.  
“Ya like that, Prowler? Ya like have mah glossa an’ fingers inside ya?” he asked, pumping his fingers in and out, twisting them around. “Which do ya like better, hm? Or would ya rather have mah spike instead?”  
“Ah! Jazz, please! Give me your spike!” Prowl begged, quivering.  
“Oh, Ah don’t know Prowler.” He added a third finger. “Ah think ya can do betta’ than that.” His free hand rose from where it had been holding his hip, instead kneading the space between his doorwings.  
Prowl whined. “Jaaazz! Jazz, please! Please, I want- I need you! Please, don’t make me wait anymore!”  
“Tch, Ah guess that will do.” Jazz said as he pulled his fingers out, lined himself up and sunk in.  
Prowl threw his helm back and keened, his doorwings bobbing up and down. Jazz moaned, gripping his hips and setting a quick, rough pace. He reached forward, kneading the spot between Prowl’s doorwings again. Prowl yelped, arching his back into his servo. He kept a mantra of the saboteur’s name, interspersed by his exclamations of pleasure. Jazz moaned, moving his servo from between the wings to one of the wings itself, rubbing the sensor laden metal. Prowl went rigid with a drawn out cry of Jazz’s name. Jazz gasped as Prowl’s valve constricted around his spike, sending him into his own overload.  
Jazz fell on top of his lover, exhausted. He pressed his lips to the back of his helm. “Ah love ya, Prowler.”  
Prowl nodded. He felt like gelatin. “I love you too, Jazz.”  
Jazz smiled, wrapping his arms around the Praxian. “Is your door locked?”  
“No.” Prowl stretched.  
“Ya don’t seem too bothered by that.” Jazz yawned.  
“Everyone knows we’re together, and have been for quite some time.” Prowl shrugged. “And I am beyond the point of caring what people think of me.”  
Jazz smiled, rubbing his cheek against Prowl’s “Y’ur just sayin’ that ‘cause y’ur too relaxed ta care.”  
“True. You have thoroughly worn me out.” Prowl turned his helm, catching Jazz’s lips in a lazy kiss. “Thank you, for being patient with me all this time. I know I am not the easiest person to be in a relationship with.”  
“It’s more than worth it, Prowler. Ah love ya for all ya are.”  
“And I love you Jazz. Even if it took me a while to say it.”  
Jazz kissed him again. “The wait was more than worth it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we're done! Woot! I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
